


Make a Dime Go One Hundred

by screwstyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (like they talk about it but not too much), Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Comeplay, Crying During Sex, D/s, Dom Louis, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Harry in Panties, Kink Discovery, Lingerie Designer Harry, M/M, Pining, Rimming, Smut, Snowballing, Spanking, Sub Harry, Undernegotiated Kink, Weed, Writer/Columnist Louis, tomlinshaw friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwstyles/pseuds/screwstyles
Summary: “Hey, Haz,” he says, encouraged in equal parts by the weed and the cocoon they seem to have created around themselves. “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.”-Friends to Lovers AU: Harry volunteers to help Louis experiment with bondage. Things don’t go exactly to plan.





	Make a Dime Go One Hundred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taggiecb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taggiecb/gifts).



> First of all, hi taggiecb! I'm such a fan of your fics and it was an honour to write for you. I hope I did your prompts justice (even if I took some creative liberties) and you enjoy this fic. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta Kelli who did a fantastic job, all remaining mistakes are mine. Thank you to mods as well for organising this exchange.
> 
> Title comes from Heartbeat by Childish Gambino.
> 
> Happy reading!

At twenty-seven, Louis should know better than to get drunk and expect a clear head in the morning. And yet, when his alarm goes off at 8am the following morning, his first instinct is to turn it off and burrow back into the blanket gently snoring on top of him. Except blankets don’t snore, which means Harry was feeling cuddly last night. His eyes fly open a second later, and he starts shaking the boy-shaped lump currently half-slumped onto him awake. The lump mumbles incomprehensibly and nuzzles into Louis’ neck instead.

“Haz, you’re late for work,” Louis says, now trying to poke Harry awake. He watches the blanket shift until brown curls and half-opened green eyes poke out from underneath.

“No,” Harry says, and proceeds to tug the blanket up to cover himself again.

“Harry, you’re late for work,” Louis says, this time trying to sound stern and ending up somewhere between barely persuasive and very fond. Nothing new, then.

“I don’t work Saturdays,” Harry insists, but it sounds like he’s back to sleep already and really, it’s unfair. Ever since Louis’ weekly deadline for his lifestyle column at _Sign of the Times_ was moved from Thursdays to Mondays, he’s made himself work through the weekend. It is easier to write and edit his article in the span of two days rather than leave it to stew, forgetting all about it by the time Monday rolled around it. Unfortunately, this also means he no longer shares his morning routine with a soft-looking, breakfast-cooking Harry.

Shutting his eyes for another five seconds, he lets himself enjoy the bed for a while longer, before the itch to get to work starts buzzing under his skin. Silently cursing Nick for insisting all his guests get drunk at his wedding, he slides from beneath the covers, tucking Harry in and shutting the door behind himself, and makes his way to the bathroom.

A shower, three cups of tea and a rerun of Coronation Street later he is frustrated out of his mind. His hangover has subsided much less then he thought it would have by now and his inbox offers no inspiration as to the topic of his next piece, which means he’s stuck. It’s not even the good kind of stuck, where he can leave it for a bit and return to it, but the kind of stuck where his deadline is looming over him and his mind is completely blank.

It really shouldn’t be that hard. Despite his young age, he is an award-winning writer with four best-selling books under his belt and a column in one of the most renowned newspapers in the world. He started on the first one, a novel about a music mogul fighting to save his company from institutional drug use allegations, during his last year of university and had soon after been discovered at a covert head-hunting session when he submitted his work for external appraisal. Now, he splits his time working on his fifth novel and writing a lifestyle column which is a more playful way to keep in touch with his readers. Well, at least when he has something to say.

Closing his laptop, he sighs and makes his way from the living room and onto the balcony, a pack of fags in his hand. He lights his first one of the day and leans against the railing, watching the street get busier as it gets closer to midday. That’s how Harry finds him a few minutes later, wearing a blanket and sporting a serious case of bedhead.

“Morning,” he says and promptly yawns as if to remind Louis he was awarded the luxury of sleeping in. 

“Suppose it is,” he replies and lets Harry curl himself around him, the duvet wrapped around them like a cape. It feels so domestic it makes his heart sting. He could always write about the little victories of unrequited love, but even the thought makes him feel like he’d be giving away a piece of himself that’s a bit too private. It sits heavy in his gut, like the WhatsApp messages he received from Nick this morning (because who spends their honeymoon on a Caribbean tour focusing one hundred percent on their spouse, duh) with a picture of him and Miles looking all-loved up with fresh tan lines on their ring fingers, along with the text “ _really thought you and harry would get here first!! tell him!!”._

“I was gonna make a fry-up if you want any,” Harry says, not moving from where he has his head hooked on Louis’ shoulder.

“I never say no to a fry-up,” Louis answers. “And stop dragging my duvet around the floor and the dirty balcony.”

“Don’t be rude to me so early in the morning,” Harry retaliates and bites Louis, as if that’s an appropriate response. Louis takes a puff and feels the duvet being hiked up. Good boy.

“Good boy,” he says.

“I know,” Harry simply answers, and then he’s off.

***

By Monday, he has managed to scrap together a decent article about how to write a best man’s speech. It’s not his worst piece, but he doubts the barely edited article he had written in two hours in the early hours of Monday is what he will be remembered for. He sprinkled in a good amount of humour and personal experience, though, which made it passable, but still. It’s a weight off his shoulders, one he doesn’t want back there anytime soon.

Come Tuesday, he is out running errands before his scheduled lunch with Harry. He didn’t see him this morning, catching up on much needed sleep as he was, but they had texted to arrange Louis to pick Harry up from his office and go to Harry’s favourite Greek café down the road.

As he enters the little boutique in Marylebone he’s grown used to over the years, he waves to the owner Clare, who’s currently talking to a customer. Similarly to Louis, Harry was hired fresh out of university by a then-small luxury lingerie boutique as a designer, and four years later was the creative director of Underclared, which had grown to have twenty-one successful stores all over the world. Walking through the showroom bit and back towards the stairs leading to the working space, he arrives to find none other than Niall in the middle of a conversation with Harry.

“Oh, we loved those!” he exclaims as Louis circles the large table to greet Harry with a squeeze to his waist.

“Honey gold or flamingo?” Harry asks, pushing two pairs of panties towards Niall across the surface.

“Spoilt for choice, I am,” Niall says as he inspects both garments. “We had pink last week so let’s go with the orange.”

“Honey gold,” Harry mutters but nevertheless happily slides over the pair, turning around to kiss Louis on the cheek and then dig around in the pile of lingerie in front of him.

“Charming your way into more free underwear for Babs, I see, Nialler,” Louis says.

“I’m not charming my way into anything, I don’t want any false credit. Harry’s offering and I’m taking advantage of his profession like any friend should,” he winks at Louis. “Not like Harry’s gonna wear them and then all of these freebies would just go to waste.”

“Not like I have anyone to wear them for,” Harry exhales covertly, and if Louis wasn’t paying him so much attention, he might have missed it. He glances at Harry, but when he continues to nonchalantly keep sorting through the numerous garments, he turns back to Niall. Still, he suspects there’s a red blush making its way across his cheeks right now. Harry in panties would be a sight to behold.

“We’ll you’ll have to find another time to bother him, as I’m starving and I haven’t seen my boy all day,” Louis says. “Ready to go, Harry?”

Harry nods and shoves another few lingerie sets and dressing gowns towards Niall, who excitedly deposits them in his holdall and with quick goodbyes makes his way out of the workroom and down the stairs. Harry turns to the coat rack where his jacket is hanging, and once dressed comes over to Louis. Together, they start walking down and out.

“Did you manage to meet with Savannah today?” Harry asks on the way on the way to the café. Louis tells him about the meeting he had with an intern for the House of Parliament he was researching for his latest book and they spend the hour discussing their respective mornings. All too soon, Louis is walking Harry back to Underclared and with a kiss to Harry’s cheek, he goes about his rest of the day.

***

He’s in the local cocktail bar later that night with Liam and Sophia, feeling like a bit of a third wheel, despite their reassurances of the contrary. Harry had sent him a text saying he had found inspiration for a new garment and would be seeing him later at home and Niall and Barbara had begged off on the account of an early morning. Louis suspects it has a lot more to do with testing out the underwear they had received, but whatever. He can’t fault them for enjoying each other’s company, no matter how much it reminds him that he’s single and pathetically, hopelessly in love with his best friend. His best friend, whom he still shares a flat with despite their financial situations allowing them to live on their own in bigger apartments (admittedly, they had moved twice to better, more respected areas). His best friend, who sometimes brings cute boys back to the house that leave with messed up hair and rumpled clothes. His best friend, whom he met in first year of university and had witnessed the transition from a blundering mess of a boy to a confident, graceful man. Louis swallows and takes another sip of his rum and coconut water.

“And then you slipped right in the middle of the reception! I was _mortified_ ,” Sophia laughs, swaying towards Liam where they’re sitting next to each other in their booth 

“I didn’t slip!” Liam protests, playfully jabbing a finger at Sophia’s side. “Niall pushed me and it happened to be exactly where Theo had spilt juice before.”

“You _slipped_ ,” Sophia says, but it has less bite to it this time. She crosses her legs and Liam pats her thigh, leaving his hand to rest there.

“Well, I’m gonna _slip_ outside for a sec,” Louis tells them, but he doesn’t know if they hear it. Based on how Liam is leaning in to kiss Sophia, he thinks not.

The bar is still half empty and it’s easy to walk towards the blinking neon green “backyard” sign hanging from the ceiling towards the other end of the bar. As soon as he’s outside, he lights a cigarette and brings it up to his lips, enjoying not only the nicotine in his system, but the excuse it gives to leave whenever his company gets a bit too syrupy sweet. He’s also grateful, because sometimes it gives him brilliant material for his books, like the time he based a whole character on Nick just to make fun of him. Of course, it backfired when his audience ended up loving the cynical, loud-mouthed film producer who finds love on a hijacked plane, but Louis likes to believe it was down to his writing.

He’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone and finishing his first fag, contemplating having a second one when there’s a light tap on his shoulder. He turns around to find a petite blonde looking up at him and holding hands with another girl, this one with black curly hair and impressive abs showing under her crop top. They look a bit younger than him and are clearly tipsy if the way they are relying on each other for support and the good spirits (ha, spirits! Louis should use that one soon) they seem to be in is any indication.

The blonde speaks first. “I’m Perrie and this is my girlfriend, Leigh-Anne,” she introduces them, and determinedly holds out her right hand to Louis.

“I’m Louis.” He raises his eyebrows, but politely shakes Perrie’s hand. Her handshake is firm and for some reason, Perrie intimidates him a bit. Leigh-Anne nods at him.

“We know who you are. We love your books. And your column is so much fun to read!” she giggles, sharing a glance with Perrie.

“We actually wanted to say thank you. Last year, you wrote that piece about inland surfing, and we both booked on an experience day where we met each other,” Perrie squeals. “Eight months later, I’m engaged to my girlfriend and couldn’t be happier,” she says. Louis isn’t sure if he’s meant to respond just yet or not, but he gives the girls an encouraging smile anyway.

“Thank you, Louis, really. We enjoy your books so much and when you started writing the column, you were so funny and inquisitive. And it led me to the most important person in my life,” Leigh-Anne smiles shyly, and Louis can see the love she has for Perrie.

He clears his throat.

“I’m not sure I can take credit for it, but you’re welcome,” he laughs. “I never thought my weird musings would connect anyone, but it’s great to know you guys got something out of it.”

Perrie and Leigh-Anne both rush to thank him again and a few minutes later, retreat to the other side of the backyard.

Flustered and confused by the exchange, Louis decides to have another fag, and cursing that he forgot his drink inside, he continues to scroll through his Twitter feed. In his periphery vision, he can see Perrie and Leigh-Anne snogging and whispering to each other intensely. Feeling like he’s intruding, he concentrates on his phone and finishes his cigarette, making his way back inside towards Liam and Sophia, who seem to have slightly disentangled themselves.

“Good smoke?” Liam asks. Louis nods and sits down, deciding not to tell them about the couple he talked with outside. They order another round and talk about the latest episode of McMafia, and whether Rebecca and Alex are a good fit. Liam thinks they are, at which Louis scoffs.

“She’s too stuck up for him! And she would never let him stay in the family business. Face it, it’s not gonna work out,” he shakes his head, wildly gesticulating with his hands.

“I think she’s just looking out for him. She’s the sensible one whenever Alex goes too far,” Liam argues back. Louis narrows his eyes at Liam. After all, this is the same guy who says his favourite Harry Potter character is Harry Potter. Clearly, he can’t be trusted. They are still debating the pros and cons of the relationship when Perrie and Leigh-Anne pass them, handsy and clearly heading home for the night.

Clearly thinking she’s being quiet, Leigh-Anne is telling Perrie in great details how she’s the best sex she’s had. Louis wants to turn away to give them their privacy, but can’t help overhearing the last thing Leigh-Anne says to Perrie before they leave the bar. “I would never trust anyone else to tie me up and have full control of me like you do.”

It seems Sophia hears it too, as she bursts out laughing.

“Good to know what they’re into, huh,” she says and has to cover her mouth to not attract any attention.

 _Yeah, good indeed,_ Louis thinks and takes another sip.

He doesn’t know why, but the sentence keeps bouncing around in his mind even as they order another round. It won’t let him be when he takes the tube home, and it leads to a sleepless tossing and turning once he’s in his bed. He shrugs. He’ll forget about it soon.

***

He doesn’t forget about it soon. In fact, it’s precisely two weeks and the same amount of less-than stellar articles later when he types “BDSM” into Google. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, nor does he know whether he’ll find it by doing a simple online search, but the thought has been gnawing at him since that Tuesday night in the bar. He can hear Leigh-Anne’s voice clear in his mind and the words she clearly intended only for Perrie to hear. It sounded so _intimate,_ is the thing. It sounded like she was talking about making love and not being bound by ropes or harnesses, maybe deprived of senses, completely at Perrie’s mercy. She sounded so, so full of trust and adoration, like she was telling Perrie how excited she was to marry her, or spend the rest of her life with her. There was so much depth to her tone that it left Louis bothered for so long and he thinks if nothing else, it’ll be a good piece for his column.

So, like any self-respecting writer, he does some research. The first few searches lead to little else but some kinky porn and painful-looking fetishes, which do little to pique Louis’ interest. He scrolls through them dutifully in case there’s a hidden gem of information on one of those sites, but comes up with nothing. Defeated, he decides to have a lunch break instead and return to the topic with newfound vigour in an hour. He peruses the fridge for the tupperware of last night’s leftover chicken alfredo he knows Harry left for him and combines it with a glass of Fiji water. He doesn’t want to fall to the stereotype of whiskey-drinking writers, after all.

The second round of researching proves much more successful. Louis finds a blog written by a sub – the person who submits to the other, dominant, he learns – that explores kinks, scenes, and the relationship between her and her partner. Not much of it directly appeals to Louis, but he makes some notes while he reads and finds himself clicking “next page” barely half an hour later. The blogger goes into how she and her partner sometimes like to visit sex clubs and play in front of people as a show of belonging to each other. Louis finds it a bit odd, but scribbles “sex clubs” down nevertheless. At the bottom of the page, he finds a post with links to other blogs. They mostly have the same theme until he gets to the very end. There, the sub has written, “I’m not a fan of reading dom blogs, but this one is amazing”. Below, there’s a link, which Louis clicks.

Opening the page, it looks like any ordinary blog with a simple black and white theme with the description of the author on the right-hand side.

“24. Dom male from New Zealand. My sub turned out to be the love of my life.”

Louis smiles as he reads it, already liking the author. He clicks on the most recent post.

As he reads, he feels his breath catch in his throat and his cock stirring in his jeans. The way the dom writes about his sub and their dynamic, the complete and full trust they have in each other, the thought that goes into every scene and every action he performs is spectacular, and Louis feels like he’s right there in the room with them, although there’s thousands of miles between them.

His hand flies over his notepad as he writes down the phrases that stand out to him the most, hanging onto every word he reads. His thoughts are racing, cock now fully hard and leaking into his boxer briefs. By the time he reaches the last post, his wrist is cramping and he has had to press his other hand down into his crotch twice to relieve at least some of the pressure that’s accumulated. He feels like he might shoot off but like he hasn’t had enough at the same time, like he wants to devour every bit of information there is.

Dizzy and satisfied, he exits the website and shuts off his laptop, stretching his wrist. He made enough notes to keep him entertained for the next two days and he already looks forward to going over them before bed. His still throbbing cock won’t settle down though, and planning to have a nice, lengthy wank, he starts crossing the flat to get to his room.

As luck would have it, just as he’s passing the front door, he hears keys turn in the lock and a moment later, a soaked Harry steps in. His face is scrunched up, long curls matted down, and his already transparent blouse is now clinging to his frame in the most delicious way. If he didn’t look so hot, Louis might laugh at just how much like a lion cub he looks. Instead, he stops in his tracks, convinced the universe must hate him to first interrupt his plans, then present Harry in all of his wet glory.

“Lou! Good, you’re here. I’m cold and want to complain,” Harry drawls out, making quick work of his boots and sliding his bag down onto the floor. Louis wishes his heart would get the message and stop pumping blood to his genitals. Like, immediately.

“It’s August,” Louis notes, but accepts it when Harry nearly topples him over with the force of his hug. “It’s hardly that cold.”

“It’s cold,” Harry states and starts leading them towards the couch, not letting go of Louis for a second. It’s a struggle. “Stand on my feet,” Harry tells him.

“Absolutely not, I’m not a toddler,” Louis says and pokes Harry in the left rib. Harry smoothly avoids it and pinches Louis’ arm.

 “On my feet, please,” he repeats, trying to get Louis to shift so his feet are on top of Harry’s all the while moving towards the sofa. It’s a struggle, but once Louis accepts defeat and places his feet on Harry’s, they make it to the sofa in a few quick strides. Well, “make it” might be a bit of an overstatement. Mostly, it’s Louis stumbling onto the sofa and Harry flopping down onto him, rubbing his wet self annoyingly into Louis. Louis still loves him. Louis still hopes he would get off so Louis won’t accidentally _get off_. He works his fingers into his hair anyway, scratching at his scalp. 

“Hey, Haz, why don’t you go have a warm shower while I make us some dinner?” Louis suggests to a now-purring Harry. Louis feels a strange urge to tug on his hair until Harry whines. He doesn’t.

“You don’t cook,” Harry says. Despite his soaked clothes and hair, he somehow still manages to look incredibly comfortable with his head on Louis’ chest, and his long, endless torso leading to where their legs are tangled together.

“No, but I make a mean hot sandwich,” Louis replies and gives way to Harry who sighs, but gets up from the sofa. He pauses, narrows his eyes, and points at Louis. “I want extra cheese on mine.”

Louis nods and gets to work.

***

Hot sandwiches turn into nachos, which then turn into popcorn and a film. At Louis’ insistence, they watch Black Panther cuddled up under the plush fluffy throw Harry brought with him from Stockholm when he went there on a work trip last summer. Harry maintains it clashes with the rest of their décor, but there’s an unspoken agreement between them to not move it from the living room.

They’re both wearing trackies and a hoodie and Harry has his back against Louis’ chest, Louis arm wrapped around his shoulder. Harry was restless for the first part of the film and then calmed down, but now seems to have quieted down even more. If it wasn’t for the occasional curling of his toes against Louis’ calves, he would think he’s asleep.

When the end credits roll around, Harry smoothly turns over under Louis’ arm and blinks up at him. Louis keeps eye contact with him. “What do you want?” he says slowly, seeing it in Harry’s face he’s up to something.

“You know how it’s bank holiday tomorrow?” Harry asks, propping his chin on his hands. Poor boy must have only blinked once the whole time, he’s so concentrated on talking Louis into whatever it is he wants.

“Yes…” Louis responds.

“And you know what we haven’t done in a long time?” Harry drawls, smiling faux-innocently. Louis doesn’t, but the way Harry looks right now, he would probably commit murder for him.

“What haven’t we done in a long time?” Louis copies Harry’s sugar sweet tone, reluctant to let Harry know he’s already won. Harry doesn’t let it deter him and Louis can see his legs are now up in the air, swinging back and forth out of rhythm like a school girl’s.

“Well, if my new bag is as waterproof as promised, I should have some high quality plant based substances in it,” Harry says. Louis wants to tell him, “ _You’re a 25-year old man, Harry, just say weed_ ,” but he barely has time to open his mouth when Harry rambles on. “Pleeease, Louis. We haven’t in so long! I miss getting high with you.” And really, how was Louis ever supposed to say no to him?

“Break it out, then, Styles,” he says faking exasperation, and Harry is gone with a quick victory shriek.

*** 

An hour later, they’re sharing a joint in the kitchen while they make brownies with what they didn’t think they could smoke in one night. Well, Harry makes brownies, and Louis tries to show his general support by lounging in a kitchen chair. Either way, never let it be said they’re not resourceful. One of them put on Britney’s _Greatest Hits_ two minutes into baking, and they’re currently singing along, Harry’s singing punctuated with a twirl of his hips here, a shake of his bum there. Louis is mesmerised.

“Harry. H. Hazza. Harry,” he says, and waits until Harry turns around, a finger covered in the brownie batter held out to Louis. Louis doesn’t even question it when he wraps his lips around Harry’s finger and swirls his tongue on the underside, sucking it clean. All too soon, the finger is gone from his mouth, but Harry’s still looking at him with a sparkle in his eyes. The bastard.

“That’s really good,” he says, because his initial thought is gone and has been replaced with what Harry might taste like without brownie mix covering him. Or covering him, but where Louis could keep licking him after it was long gone. He takes another hit from his joint.

“I know,” Harry smiles, and starts mixing the weed-infused oil into the batter and pouring it into the oven tray. He smoothly slides the tray into the oven and sets a timer before making his way over to where Louis is sitting, facing the cooking area rather than the table. Harry gently rearranges Louis’ legs to form a chair for himself and once content, plops his bum down onto Louis’ thighs. Louis left hand instinctively finds its place on Harry’s hip. He makes eye contact with Louis first, then looks at the joint between Louis’ fingers, signalling he wants a turn. He leans in, but when Louis offers him the joint, he shakes his head and instead parts his lips in the direction of Louis’ hand. Okay, then.

Louis lifts the joint up to Harry’s mouth, marvelling at the pink softness he finds there. Harry’s lips wrap around the end of the joint, just barely nudging at Louis’ fingers, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks. His eyes are closed when he pulls back, and he holds the smoke in, barely moving at all. He tilts his head up and slowly starts exhaling, the column of his throat exposed and so, so beautiful that Louis might just feel how his heart halts for a second and picks back up even faster. Finally done, Harry opens his eyes and cranes his neck towards the joint again, silently asking for a drag. He’s quiet as he takes it, but when he exhales this time, he aims it at Louis’ face, causing Louis to cough.

Harry starts shaking with laughter, only a bit at first, but then louder, a full-blown Harry laugh. Louis suddenly raises his feet to his tiptoes, jostling Harry in retaliation. 

“Get off, you’ve lost your lap rights,” he says, and Harry slides off to claim his own chair, still laughing at Louis’ offended face.

They switch from Britney to old 80s classics and pretend they’re dramatically lip-syncing on _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ while they wait for the brownies to cook. They’re in the middle of Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun _”_ when the timer goes off, Harry standing on the chair with his hands wildly gesticulating in the air, and Louis with a spatula in his hand, pretending to direct a pack of dancers. They ignore the timer, finishing the song and their over-the-top interpretations of it, before grabbing the brownies and relocating to the balcony. 

Louis grabs the throw from the sofa on their way out and drapes it over them while Harry sets their brownies down on the table. They quiet down and start nibbling on pieces, watching the slow midnight traffic in Holland Park. Harry lays his head down onto Louis’ shoulder, which must be uncomfortable due to the height difference, but he makes it work by sliding down the cushioned two-seater bench. Louis isn’t sure he can actually see much from that angle, but he doesn’t comment.

The night is still warm, one of the last ones London will probably have this year. Louis can’t see any stars, not that he really expects to surrounded by the city lights as he is, but he knows the sky has cleared from the earlier shower that Harry had been caught in on his way from the tube stop. Most of the lights in the apartments across from them are on as most people will be off work tomorrow, and he can see the soft glow of some of their televisions through the windows. Even with the noise of the people on the street below them blending into the sounds of the traffic, it’s a peaceful night.

He hates that in the middle of the night, with Harry so close to him, he can’t stop thinking about the blog he had discovered that day. The words are still swimming in his mind and he can hear Leigh-Anne’s soft tone when she had told Perrie how much she trusted her. After reading the blog, he thinks he might have an idea why that sentence, _“I would never trust anyone else to tie me up and have full control of me like you do”_ , held so much intimacy.

He softly nudges Harry’s thigh where it’s pressed against his.

“Hey, Haz,” he says, encouraged in equal parts by the weed and the cocoon they seem to have created around themselves. “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.

“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.”

Harry’s gaze is unwavering, but Louis sees how he swallows right after the last word is out of Louis’ mouth. He’s quiet for a moment as he turns back to look at the street. Louis thinks he might just not answer before Harry takes a deep breath, like he needs courage for what he’s going to say next.

“I mean, I do,” he finally says.

Louis thinks he might break into two pieces right there on the balcony of his shared flat with Harry, in one of the poshest areas London has to offer. Harry has someone and he hasn’t told Louis. Harry has had a someone for a while if he’s willing to trust them so much, Louis thinks, and there’s not enough oxygen in his lungs. Still, he asks, “You do?”

Harry reaches for another piece of brownie like he needs it to keep his mouth occupied while he thinks, lest it spill out all of his thoughts. Louis sort of hopes it would, hopes Harry would tell him. Harry twirls the piece in front of him for a second and Louis can see how he’s holding it so tight it’s about to crumble under the pressure.

“I do,” Harry sighs.

Louis keeps looking at him, but Harry seems keen on avoiding any eye contact right now. The night air is still warm, but suddenly Louis feels chilled down to his bones, like a wet sheet draped over him in the wind.

“I would if you asked,” Harry continues quietly, and the tops of his cheeks are a bit pinker now than they were a second ago, his eyes finding Louis’. He looks a bit embarrassed, but unfalteringly confident and always, always radiant, Louis thinks.

There’s a buzz under his fingertips as Harry’s words register in his brain and the ice in his veins turns to liquid fire.

“You trust me enough to do that?” he asks, not quite processing the first time Harry said it. 

“I trust you more than anyone in the world,” Harry says, and breaks the moment when he shoves a piece of brownie against Louis’ lips. “Now, eat up. We’re not even halfway through and I refuse to let them go to waste.”

Louis obliges and grins at Harry.

***

For someone who was in Barbados only a few days ago and had to wake up at 5 a.m. today, Nick seems awfully chipper. Louis hates his guts.

“I hate your guts,” he tells him.

“There, there,” Nick says condescendingly, and pats Louis’ cheek. Louis pretends to bite him. “I’m not the one who stayed up until four and woke up still high. It’s your own fault.”

Nick has a point, but Louis is not in the mood to recognise that. He agreed to meet Nick right after his breakfast show finishes at 10 a.m., but right now, sitting in the unforgiving glare of the sun with the offices of Radio 1 bustling around him, he’s regretting it.

“I’m regretting this,” he tells Nick, who has gone back to typing up next week’s show schedule on the laptop and ignoring Louis’ active moping.

“Shush, you, or I’ll forever withhold your souvenir,” he tsks.

“You wouldn’t,” Louis hisses, but the thought cheers him up already. Nick gives great gifts, like when he was in Morocco three months ago and brought Louis back a soap bar shaped like a penis being stung by a bee. It still sits unused on Louis’ shelf, untouched. He can’t bring himself to destroy such an iconic piece of art.

“I would,” Nick says, not even glancing up, and continues to tap away. 

He’s done for the day soon after and they head to Louis’ favourite brunch spot that does a great cheese-themed menu. Nick complains the whole way there, but Louis knows that he won’t mind the extra hours at the gym he claims he’ll need once they arrive. It’s a lovely set up, half inside and half outside, with plenty of natural light, short vines hanging from the terrace’s cell ceiling, and blue fairy lights interwoven with the plants.

Once their first dish arrives, Nick makes appropriately satisfied sounds that make up for the last twnty minutes of his moaning. They make pleasant conversation, Nick telling him all about his honeymoon visiting different Caribbean islands and showing Louis pictures, along with passing him the bottle of guavaberry liquor he got from Sint Maarten. Louis nods appropriately and indulges him, genuinely excited to hear about the trip. Once they are finished with their brunch, both sated and drinking pink lemonade from mason jars, Louis tells Nick about last night.

“So, when I told you last night that Harry and I got high, there might be more to the story,” Louis starts, testing the waters.

Nick’s eyes immediately light up.

“Did you make out? Sleep together? Confess your eternal love for each other and get married?” he asks in quick succession. Sometimes, he comes off a lot like a teenage fangirl, despite being a 35-year old grown man.

“No, Nick, what the hell, keep your voice down,” Louis shushes him. “You know how I told you I was considering writing a piece about BDSM for the column?” Nick nods and Louis continues. “Well, I asked him if he trusted anyone enough to do that with, you know, to be restrained, and I was gonna have a heart attack when he said he did. And then, he looks me in the eye and says, ‘I would, if you asked.’ Why would he say something like that?”

Nick looks at him like he’s missing a head and swirls the straw in his lemonade. “Have you considered that maybe he fancies you just as much and thinks this will lead somewhere?”

For the sake of his own sanity, Louis ignores him and lowers his voice.

“And today when he made me tea before I left, he said to me, ‘I meant it, by the way. Last night. You could tie me up, if you wanted.’ I explained to him why I was thinking about it and he just shrugged. Nick, I can’t figure out if he’s making fun of me, but you know Harry would never do that,” Louis whines, resting his face in his palm. “I’m going to die. The man I’m in love with wants to have sex with me for science.”

Nick kicks his foot under the table. “Louis. He doesn’t want to have sex with you for science. Well, not just for science anyway. He’s just as gone for you as you are for him and one day, you will have a million babies running around and probably three dogs and a cat. Bloody talk to him,” Nick says, and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He offers Louis one, which he gratefully accepts.

“I can’t, Nick. Have you met him? He’s the most gorgeous, kindest, funniest person who has the whole world practically at his feet. I don’t stand a chance,” he says, lighting his cigarette.

“Don’t sell yourself short, love,” Nick disagrees, leaning back into his chair. “I don’t hang out with people who aren’t at least a bit extraordinary. You might not see it, but your boy loves you.”

Finishing their cigarettes, they pay at the counter and after stopping to say hi to a dog sniffing at their feet and wagging its tail, they leave. As they part ways, they hug and promise to make plans to see each other soon.  

***

He decides to take a walk to clear his head as well as digest the brunch. It’s a fifty-minute walk from Mayfair to get home, give or take, but he figures he could use the time to actually process the situation he’s in. Too bad there’s no handbook for when your best friend, who you’re secretly in love with, offers you the chance to tie him up and have your way with him. Last night and this morning, he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t take Harry up on the offer, but the last hour has put doubts and ideas in his mind. The nagging insecurity in the corner of his mind keeps telling him to take whatever he can get while he has the opportunity, but another part of him is telling him it would be a bit like taking advantage.

What he’s having a hard time understanding is what Harry gets out of all of this. Is he doing it because he feels sorry for Louis? Because he knows how badly Louis wants that and is a good friend by letting him experiment? It’s painful to even consider that option, but Louis wants to weigh all aspects of this before he makes a decision. Not that there’s a decision to make, really, but if it’s the only way he’ll ever have Harry, he doesn’t want to regret not leaping at the opportunity when he had it. And if Harry offered, there must be a little part of him, no matter how miniscule, that wants Louis in at least some capacity. It’s not much consolation, but it helps.

Louis still has the same liquid fire in him he had felt yesterday on the balcony with Harry, and in the morning, he still wanted to pull at Harry’s hair to see it he would like it, if he would moan as prettily as Louis thought he would. At the same time, he wants to press kisses to the nape of his neck while he falls asleep bracketed in Louis’ arms, and he wants to wake up with a soft boy tangled up in him, feeling his ribcage expanding where his palm is pressed against the beat of Harry’s heart.

It’s a conundrum Louis feels reluctant to explore, but the tightness in his throat and the nervous tick somewhere low in his stomach tells him he already knows.

***

If it were anyone else, Louis would think they’re losing their mind, but as it is when he walks in on Harry sitting cross-legged in the middle of their lounge wearing only a rubbish bag and colouring in a picture of a rhino wearing a suit and smoking a pipe with a box of scotch eggs next to him, he doesn’t think much of it.

“Hey, Haz,” he calls out, dropping his keys into their dedicated bowl and slipping off his Vans. Harry lifts his head and waves at him happily. “What you doing?”

“I got this new hair mask that needs to be in for half an hour and I didn’t wanna ruin any of my clothes in case it stains. Then I started sorting through my old stuff, but found this colouring book and got distracted. And then I got hungry,” he pouts, like it’s not where he meant to end up, but wasn’t concerned enough to actually stop. Now that he points it out, his hair does look a little slimy with product. “And I still have ten minutes left.”

Louis stifles a laugh.

“The rhino looks good, at least,” he notes and Harry nods at him before going back to colouring its pipe a horrifying lime green. Honestly, this toddler of a man.

“So, I was thinking,” Louis clears his throat to signify it’s something he actually wants Harry’s full attention on. Harry dutifully finishes doing the pipe’s outlines before blinking up at Louis, eyes big and face open. “About what you said yesterday. If you’re still up for it.”

Harry goes to run a hand through his hair, but flinches when he touches the wet surface and yanks his fingers back. The face he pulls would normally have Louis laughing, but he’s currently all consumed by the nerves.

“I’m not gonna back out now,” he smirks, but Louis can see Harry’s hand tightly clutching the bloody bin bag he’s still wearing. It reassures him a bit to know he’s not the only one feeling the tension in the room. “If I shower now, can we talk about it once I’m out?” he suggests. Louis agrees and lets Harry escape to the shower.

He spends half an hour on his bed with a pen and paper in his hand combining a list of things he wants to discuss with Harry, trying to think of the dom blog he was reading. He’s gotten as far as “ _limits and boundaries – need to establish!!”_ and underlining it twice before Harry comes in, flopping onto the bed next to him in a fluffy dressing gown, hair towel dried. 

“You ready to talk business?” he waggles his eyebrows, but when he sees Louis tense up, he places a gentle hand on Louis’ arm. “Hey, you okay, babe? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he says quietly, tracing a soothing circle into Louis’ skin. Louis lifts up his other hand to squeeze Harry’s shoulder briefly.

“No, no, I’m good,” he breathes out. “I actually got started a bit, if that’s okay? Just thinking of some things we should go through before anything happens.” Harry nods that it’s a good idea and together, they read through the list.

  * _safe words and communication_
  * _what we’re willing to do_
  * _previous experience (if any)_



(The thought of that one made Louis hurt inside a bit, but he recognised it was an important aspect of their agreement.)

  * _expectations_
  * _is kissing off-limits?_
  * _limits and boundaries – need to establish!!_



“I think we should just go in order,” Harry suggests, and so they do. They decide to use “grapefruit” as a safeword for Harry, and Louis makes Harry promise him about a thousand times that if he feels the slightest bit uncomfortable, either mentally or physically, that he would tell Louis.

“And what if I want to be uncomfortable?” Harry asks with a wink. Louis rolls his eyes but is glad about how it releases the tension in the room.

After that, it’s smooth sailing. They write a list of kinks they’re both willing to try (Louis nearly chokes on his own spit when Harry asks him to pull his hair rough and good, and Louis suggests using his scarves to tie Harry’s hands to the bed, to which Harry eagerly agrees). The rest is pretty straight forward – they decide to not go further than frottage and handjobs, neither of them really has any experience in BDSM (which makes a ball of stress pop and deflate inside Louis) and they both want orgasms. It’s when they get to kissing that things get a bit complicated.

“I don’t think we should kiss, ‘cause that wouldn’t really be a friend thing,” Louis says, tapping the end of his pen against the notepad.

“Do you not want to kiss me, Lou?” Harry asks, a slight downward curve to his lips where he’s trying to stay impassive.

“Isn’t that too romantic? Like, we’re just trying out the dom/sub thing, right?”

Harry’s nod seems really unconvincing and he purses his lips together in a tight line.

“I just think it’ll maybe make me feel calmer and more taken care of if you kiss me,” he says slowly, each word laden with meaning.

It makes Louis hurt that he ever thought of denying him this for his own stupid feelings – of course Harry would want to kiss and be close to his sexual partner instead of feeling like he’s being used for an experiment.

“Of course, baby, if that’s what you want,” Louis nods and an intense warmth spills inside of him when Harry moves to give his wrist a squeeze.

Cheeks tinted red, Harry says, “Maybe, uh, you could call me that in bed, too?” The look he gives Louis from under his long eyelashes is enough to make Louis give him anything he wants.

They spend a good half hour talking about limits and boundaries, where Louis is allowed to touch and where not, what he can do to Harry and what Louis wouldn’t feel comfortable doing. It’s barely past 3 p.m. when they’re finished.

“When do you want to do this, then?” Louis asks Harry, who just shrugs.

“If we don’t have any plans today, how about we do it in a few hours? Have a snack, let it settle, and get to it?” Harry says, flopping around onto his back and rubbing his stomach. His dressing gown falls open a bit on his chest, revealing the swallows tattooed there, and Louis can’t believe that in just a few short hours he’ll have permission to touch and bite and lick them.

***

They settle in Harry’s room, which has a bed with bedposts to tie Harry up to and a firmer mattress for Harry’s back to rest against. They start out by taking off their clothes, pretending to avoid gazes, but they make eye contact a few too many times while they’re sliding off their shirts, and then again when Louis is in his boxer briefs, left gaping openly at Harry’s backside which is coming into view right in front of him. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before thanks to Harry’s casual attitude to nudity, but now it’s charged with a certain meaning, like a prequel to an enticing story. 

Harry neatly folds his clothes onto the armchair by the window and deposits himself in the middle of the bed, starfished and tracking Louis’ movements as he takes off his underwear and socks. Harry’s cock is mostly soft, lying against his thigh, surrounded by a thatch of trimmed dark hair that is inviting Louis to reach out. Even soft, he looks huge and Louis can’t wait to feel the weight of him in his hand. He finally crawls onto the bed, knee-walking to where Harry is lying down, watching him attentively.

“I’m gonna tie you up now, baby,” he says and reaches for the scarves on the bedside table next to the lamp Harry turned on earlier to get some “mood lighting” – his words, not Louis’. He loops the first scarf around Harry’s wrist firmly, but not too tight, leaving two fingers of space in between, and fastens it to one of the bars of the bedpost, effectively making Harry unable to move his arm. He repeats the process with the other scarf and checks in with Harry that he’s comfortable. After that, he moves to sit on Harry’s thighs, hands resting where he can feel Harry’s torso expanding with each breath he takes. 

“How you feeling, darling?” he asks, admiring the expanse of skin and beautiful boy in front of him, looking up at him with trust in his eyes. His cock is perking up in interest, as if just being tied up is doing it for him, and isn’t that an arousing thought. 

“Good, Lou, feel good,” he responds, voice wavering and biceps bulging like he’s testing his restraints. “You can start now.”

Louis moves up to kneel above Harry’s body, resting his hands on Harry’s hips and running them up to his shoulders, feeling the smooth, warm skin beneath his touch. He brings his hands back to where Harry’s nipples have pebbled up and tweaks one just to see his reaction. He doesn’t expect Harry’s prick to jerk and touch his thigh, filling up just from Louis teasing Harry’s nipple.

“You like having your nipples played with then, huh, Haz?” Louis asks, and without waiting for a response uses the nail of his thumb to scratch at his other nipple.

The reaction is breathtaking – Harry sighs quietly, arches up off the bed into the touch and then relaxes back into it like he’s giving over control of his body to Louis. Louis leans in to suck on his nipple and puts his hands on Harry’s love handles, pinching one and letting the wave of arousal wash over him. He knows his own cock is fully hard just from this little bit of getting to touch Harry, and when he accidentally grinds against him while trying to get a better angle at his nipple, stretching out his body to full length, he feels Harry’s erection big against him.

He does it again just to feel the delicious friction of Harry’s cockhead against his and moves to mouth at Harry’s neck, which is pale and begging to be kissed. He thinks back to how they got high last night, and Harry had sat in his lap, exhaling smoke up into the air, his throat exposed, and remembers how badly he wanted to press his lips there. Now he can, so he does. He slides his lips up to Harry’s throat and nibbles with his teeth, soothing the place with his tongue. Harry’s breathing picks up and he strains against the scarves, helpless.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes against Harry’s skin, rolling their hips together again, wanting nothing more than to keep his body as close to Harry’s as physically possible; where his mouth is pressed against his throat, where his chest is slick with sweat against Harry’s, where his hands are still on Harry’s love handles, fingers pressing a pattern into his skin, where his feet are in between Harry’s, who has spread them far apart.

“Lou,” Harry whines, not giving any indication as to what he wants. Perhaps he’s content just taking what Louis will give him and the thought makes Louis’ head spin. His eyes are blinking down at Louis, moist and searching. _Concentrate_ , Louis thinks. He turns his head to reach Harry’s jaw, lifting one hand to hold the sharp curve on one side while he sucks a pink mark onto the other. God, Harry has such nice facial features.

Their cockheads catch together on the next grind and Louis squeezes his love handles again, gasping against Harry’s skin. It’s a wet grind and it feels amazing.

Louis pets at Harry’s stomach where their bodies aren’t too tightly tangled around each other and is about to place his hand on Harry’s leaking dick when Harry whispers, “Kiss me, please, Lou, wanna taste you.”

Louis – he sort of stills, and instead of complying, he breaks down. He slides off of Harry’s body to his side, placing one hand just above his pretty, pink, big cock and just breaths in, knowing Harry must be confused. He just. He needs a moment to catch his breath and the pure smell of Harry, vanilla combined with rose and a hint of sweat, is helping the impending panic at the back of his mind. He feels like he might drown if he doesn’t stop, if he keeps touching Harry – if he can’t have him again after this.

He closes his eyes and slowly counts to ten, ignoring Harry’s laboured breathing.

“Harry, I can’t kiss you,” he finally confesses, unable to look at Harry’s face. The hurt, or disappointment, or worst of all, relief, that he might see there keeps his eyes glued to the tattoo of a birdcage right under Harry’s armpit. His feet are tense where they’re lying still on the bed, like if he decided to bolt at any moment they would support him. He knows he won’t though, because no matter the cascade of emotions inside him, he would never leave Harry clueless like this. Harry’s sniffles break him out of his thoughts.

“Do you not find me attractive enough?” he asks and when Louis lifts his head, there’s a pool of wetness in his eyes, his cheeks patchy with colour. “Am I only good enough for you to get off with, but not kiss me?”

 _Fuck_ , Louis thinks, he’s really fucked this up. He was so caught up in his own feelings that he failed to communicate with Harry, the first point on his list. He can’t believe he lead Harry to believe something like that when the truth was anything but. His heartbeat speeds up and kicks his body and mind into action, and that’s when he knows there’s only two ways out of this: he doesn’t explain and risks breaking their friendship wide apart, or he tells him. This is not at all how he ever imagined telling Harry, those few times he actually thought he would find the courage to do it. But now he’s in too deep and unless he wants to hurt Harry’s feelings any more than he already has, he has no choice left but to lay out his heart and hope Harry doesn’t burn holes into it. At this point, it’s not even a choice.

His body moves to cover Harry’s on instinct, craving intimacy for what he’s about to tell him.

“No, Harry, Hazza, never. I would never do that to you,” he babbles, hands holding Harry’s face in between his, hot cheeks pressed against the soft palms of his hands. “I care for you more than I do anybody in the world.” 

“Then why won’t you kiss me?” Harry pants out in uneven breaths. The well in his eyes breaks and Louis can’t dab at his cheekbones quickly enough, aching to sooth the boy underneath him. His hands are still bound, and maybe Louis should untie him, but right now it doesn’t seem to be a priority for either of them.

“Harry,” Louis says once he’s wiped away the tears and works one hand into Harry’s still lightly damp hair from his earlier shower, petting at it soothingly. “I can’t kiss you _because_ you are the most important person in the world to me,” he intones, trying to convey the meaning in a few short words. He doesn’t know if he succeeds as Harry lies unblinking there, looking at Louis until he gasps and it’s like an electric shock jolts through him. 

“Lou…” he starts crying again, this time harder than before, and Louis thinks he’s gone and fucked up even worse until Harry lifts his head as much as he can, Louis’ hand dropping from his hair to his shoulder, and presses a soft, dry kiss against Louis’ lips. He’s gone before the touch really registers and then he’s saying, “That’s exactly why you can and _should_ kiss me. I’ve been waiting to hear that for so long, Lou.”

Louis opens his eyes and although Harry’s face is still covered in wetness, he can see a certain delight and happiness shine through it. The emerald green of his eyes is looking up at him full of hope, like this is the moment all of his dreams have come true. Louis’ mind is spinning thinking it’s because of him.

“You love me too?” Louis asks, dumbfounded. Harry is nodding before the words are even out of his mouth, a smile stretching his pink lips and spreading Louis’ hand still on Harry’s cheek. His can feel his own face start to reflect Harry’s without his control, and he tries to suppress the laughter that threatens to break free from him, borne from pure happiness after waiting for nearly a whole decade. A second later, when he’s leaning down to connect their mouths, he does burst out against Harry’s lips. Harry follows, starting out with small giggles, then growing to a full-blown cackle. It’s a bit hysteric, but Louis wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing right now,” Harry teases and lightly shoves him with his knee.

“So are you, though,” Louis points out, which leads to another round of snickers from the both of them. When they finally get their act together enough to kiss for real, Harry’s lips smooth and addicting below his, he pulls away. Harry whines in protest, but Louis shushes him. “I just wanna say this, so there’s no confusion. I love you, Harry, have since pretty much the first day I met you in uni. This was never gonna be just science for me,” he says, which sends Harry into another fit of giggles, but he starts breathing a bit more calmly a moment later.

“I love you. I thought this was my chance, you know. When you started talking about being tied up, I thought maybe if I let you do that, you’ll see how good we are together, how well we fit, that you’d see our connection is deeper than just friends,” he says seriously.

“You never had to do that, baby, I was always in love with you. There was no one else I could think of that I wanted to be with,” Louis assures him, resuming his petting of Harry’s hair. “Got so jealous whenever you brought anyone home.”

“I never wanted anyone else but you in my bed, but I couldn’t stay celibate, now could I?” Harry laughs. “Honestly, when you were dating Jasper, I was losing my mind. Pretty sure Niall was sick of my complaining to him all the time,” he chuckles, but it doesn’t seem sad, more like a little memory he wants to share with Louis. “I’m so happy you brought up BDSM no matter how weird it is that that’s what finally brought us together.”

“Me too, darling,” Louis agrees, tracing Harry’s chest with his fingertips. “And I’m happy I couldn’t bring myself to kiss you, because now I can kiss you a lot, hopefully for the rest of my life.”

As if to prove his point, he pecks Harry’s lips again and once he realises he hasn’t even tasted the inside of his mouth yet, reconnects their lips, tracing Harry’s bottom lip with his tongue until he gives in and opens up, letting Louis’ tongue in and connecting with his own. He tastes amazing – sweet and tangy, like something that Louis has been waiting a lifetime to feel on his tongue, and he never wants to stop. Their tongues tangle together, slick and hot and wet, and Louis feels his cock stirring back to life.

Harry stops Louis from going any further with a little whine. Louis thinks he’s gone too far, crossed some line he didn’t know they had, when Harry rasps out, “Want you to fuck me now, please. All this talk of loving makes me really horny.” And really, only Harry would say something like that. True to his word, he shifts under Louis and ruts his erection up against Louis’ hip.

“Do you want me to untie you?” Louis asks, shifting up to check Harry’s wrists for any signs of discomfort.

“No, please, Lou, want you to fuck me like this,” Harry says pointedly, obviously getting desperate now and moving his hips to get more friction on his dick.

Louis still takes his time inspecting his wrists and strictly tells him to say if he changes his mind at any point. Then, he moves down to claim Harry’s mouth again, one hand tugging at his hair roughly and one circling the head of his cock, teasing.

Harry’s moans get louder the second Louis makes contact with him and he bucks off the bed.

“Relax, darling, or we won’t get anywhere today,” Louis berates him. Harry pulls a face, but sags into the mattress, letting Louis be in charge of him. “Christ, you’re so hot, baby,” he says against his neck where he leaves a dark mark because he can and moves down to lick at Harry’s chest.

He remembers how Harry reacted when he touched his nipples earlier and decides to tease him a bit more by biting down on one gently. Harry mewls gorgeously at that, his body jolting like he wants to arch up into Louis’ touch, but at the same time wants to be good for him.

Louis spends a minute teasing his nipple, sucking and licking and biting, fingers of his left hand working on this other nipple, driving Harry even louder. He feels Harry’s cock leak against where he’s pressed up against Louis’ tummy.

“So good for me, Haz, look so pretty. Want my fingers?” he asks rhetorically to work Harry up more than anything, but Harry answers anyway.

“Yes, please,” he says politely, voice rough from how turned on he is. “The lube is in the top drawer.”

Louis stretches out his hand, trying to reach it without moving, reluctant to abandon Harry’s body, but once he figures out it’s impossible, he licks deep into Harry’s mouth and makes quick work of shifting to the side of the bed. There, he finds a half-empty tube of lube.

“Half-empty, huh? Naughty boy,” he winks, screwing the cap open and pouring some onto his fingers.

“Thought about you every time, Lou. Your fingers are so nice,” he moans out, bending his knees and lifting up his feet to rest against Louis’ thighs unprompted. Louis’ breath hitches when he first looks at Harry’s hole, pink and begging to be touched, already fluttering before he’s even touched it.

He warms up the lube in his fingers and gently positions one at Harry’s entrance, slowly pushing in. It’s a tight fit, and Louis can’t believe he will soon get to do this with his cock.

“I cleaned up extra carefully in the shower, I was so nervous. Wanted to be attractive to you,” Harry confesses, and the flush that spreads on his cheeks and down to his chest makes Louis lean up to kiss him again.

“You’re always attractive to me, darling. You could be a horrible, snotty mess and I’d still want to snog your face off,” Louis laughs, moving his finger and feeling the silky walls around him constrict.

“Want another one, please,” Harry begs, trying to fuck himself down onto Louis’ finger. Louis waits until he feels Harry’s hole loosen up a bit around him and tucks in a second finger next to the first one. The way Harry’s arse hugs them is a heady sensation and Louis scissors them to get Harry used to it. Harry, however, has other ideas.

“C’mon, Lou, I want you in me,” he moans, moving his hips in an effort to get Louis to speed up. Louis, of course, stills his fingers inside Harry.

“Now, that’s no way to talk to a man who has his fingers in your arse, baby,” Louis chides, withdrawing them completely. Harry cries out, unhappy, and Louis gives him a little slap on his hip.

“What if I wanna finger you for hours, hmm? You feel so tight around me, your arse is so gorgeous. What if I just tease you, get you to the edge, and then stop you from coming?”

Harry’s writhing against his restraints, breathing out little _Louis, Lou, please’s_ that go straight to Louis’ cock.

“What if I decide to completely ignore your arse and suck you off instead? Make you come in my mouth without my cock even touching you?” Louis asks, and it’s a bit scary how easily he can talk so highly of his own body, but the effect it has on Harry is worth it. He lets out this little noise, half between a sob and a wail, and nods like it’s not what he wants at all, but it’s what he’ll have to make do with. Satisfied, Louis plunges his fingers back into Harry’s hole and revels in the expression Harry pulls, shutting his eyes and biting his lip, overwhelmed by pleasure.

“There, you go, baby,” Louis soothes him, moving his fingers in and out, keeping them from hitting Harry’s prostate. He does a quick job opening him up, petting all over his body while he works a third finger into him, loosening him enough for his cock. It’s not as big as Harry’s, which is currently twitching against his stomach, but it’s still a decent size and Louis would like to think he knows how to use it pretty well.

He rolls on a condom he found earlier in the top drawer and positions himself against Harry’s hole, ready to push in while Harry locks his feet behind Louis. He makes eye contact with Harry, coaching him to open his eyes, and then nudges his cock past Harry’s pink rim. Despite the prep, he’s still tight, and it makes Louis want to encompass himself in the heat right away, but he stills and instead moves incrementally, careful not to hurt Harry.

When he bottoms out, he checks in with Harry.

“How is it, Haz?” he asks, one hand on Harry’s hip, the other in his hair.

“Good, it’s so good. Would be better if you moved, though,” he says cheekily with a grin, which slips off his lips once Louis pulls back, then slides in again. Harry lets out a loud gasp and keeps doing so while Louis starts to slowly speed up, the friction delicious and the sight in front of him even better. Once he works up to a steady rhythm, driving in and out of Harry’s hole at a constant speed, he tangles his hand tighter into Harry’s hair and pulls.

The reaction is instant. Harry’s body trembles and his cock dribbles out more precome, standing out from his body tall and proud. It’s a lovely shade of pink and Louis really wouldn’t mind spending ages sucking Harry’s cock at some point in the future, but for now, he tugs again, loving how responsive Harry is.

His rhythm falters a bit and when he thrusts in again, it’s at a new angle that has Harry babbling nonsense and pleading for Louis to keep going. Satisfied that he’s found Harry’s prostate, he redoubles his efforts, ramming into Harry’s hole hard and fast and tugging at his hair every other thrust. Harry seems to slip into some sort of trance, gazing up at Louis through a cloud like he’s not really understanding what’s happening, but he’s enjoying it nevertheless. His mouth is letting out some of the prettiest sounds Louis has heard in his life and he thinks that if this is how sex is with Harry, he might not survive the rest of it. He was already ruined for anyone else the moment he tied Harry up what feels likes hours ago.

Louis kisses Harry then, wanting to taste his mouth again and immerse himself in Harry as much as he can, all senses on high alert. It’s a miracle he hasn’t come yet, Louis thinks, being surrounded by the feel of Harry, how he tastes, how he feels, the smell of his skin that leaves Louis intoxicated with every breath.

“Lou, touch me, wanna come,” Harry whines. Louis slides his hand to circle Harry’s thick cock. It’s pleasantly moist like it’s been dripping precome the whole time – and it probably has, Louis thinks, the slide easy. He squeezes the base of his cock and moves his palm to thumb at his slit, then wraps it tightly around the shaft and starts pumping a quick up-and-down motion in time with his thrusts.

“You’re so gorgeous, Harry. Such a good boy for me, taking my cock so well,” Louis tells Harry who looks on edge already. “Wish you could see yourself, know how nicely your hole stretches around me, baby. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. Wish I could fuck you for days on end.”

On the next slide up, Harry’s body contracts, his dick spurting out pearly, white come. It lands mostly on their stomachs, some of it shooting onto Harry’s butterfly tattoo, and his body deflates like a high-strung rope being cut, giving into pleasure. He breathes out a tiny _Lou_ right after the aftershocks end, spent and boneless. It’s quite possibly the hottest thing Louis has seen in his life.

He is about two thrusts away from coming himself when Harry calls his name and tells him, “Come on my face, Lou, please.”

Louis, of course, can’t deny his boy anything. He pulls out and rips off the condom, chucking it away, and repositions himself over Harry, his knees under Harry’s armpits and his cockhead resting against Harry’s lips. Louis gets a whole half a dozen strokes in before Harry opens his mouth and kitten-licks at the slit, causing Louis’ cock to twitch and paint Harry’s lips and cheeks with sticky come. He pushes the head just past Harry’s plush lips at the end so Harry’s mouth catches the rest of his come and he holds it in until Louis recovers from his orgasm, laying down next to Harry.

Harry lifts up his head in Louis’ direction and for a second Louis is confused as to what he wants but catches on quickly enough.

“Kiss?” he asks. Harry eagerly nods, craning his neck even more. Louis leans in and Harry opens up when Louis’ tongue asks for entrance. He’s still holding Louis’ come in his mouth and it’s filthy and bitter and if Louis was any younger, he would probably be hard again already. He licks half of the come out of Harry’s mouth and swallows, feeling Harry do the same. They kiss for a few minutes after that, alternating between short presses and deep, long snogs until Harry pulls away, smiling shyly. He seems to have come back now, judging by his clear eyes and embarrassed expression.

“Sorry, I know we didn’t, like, talk about it beforehand, but I couldn’t resist,” he says, blushing, and Louis scoffs against him.

“You dirty thing,” he scolds, but softens it with, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Harry answers him and yawns. “Thank you. I feel like that was the best sex of my life.”

“It better be,” Louis laughs at him, tamping down on the jealousy rearing its head somewhere in his gut. He knows he’ll be the only one having sex with Harry any time soon – and if all goes to plan, ever again, really. “So, boyfriends?” he confirms, rubbing their noses together, ignoring the drying come that transfers to his face as he does.

“Boyfriends,” Harry nods happily. “Now untie me, please. It’s my turn to be handsy,” he demands, but there’s no bite behind it.

Louis does, acting like it’s a chore to get up, and presses kisses to Harry’s wrists as he undoes the scarves. While he’s up, he goes to retrieve a wet flannel to wipe them down from where Harry’s come spilled over their torsos and where Louis’ come is still stuck to their faces. He returns to a pouting Harry, unhappy about being left alone, and he protests weakly when Louis wipes down his spent cock, but other than that, complies.

Louis crawls back into bed once he’s disposed of the flannel and is immediately attacked by a soft Harry. He nudges and prods at Louis until he’s lying on his back with his left arm spread to the side, and crawls between his body and his arm, his chest lying on Louis’ and his hand coming to rest on Louis’ upper stomach.

From there, it travels up and down, exploring each part of Louis’ body it can reach. Harry combs his fingers through Louis’ chest hair, maps out the shape of his shoulder, tenderly touches at his neck.

“I feel like I’m being felt up,” Louis huffs out, watching in mirth how Harry’s face changes with each new inch of skin he touches.

 “You are,” Harry simply agrees and continues to trace Louis’ ribs and tummy. He draws a circle around Louis’ belly button a few times and then goes down to his hips. When Harry reaches down to tug on Louis’ pubes, Louis squawks at him.

“Harry, how are my pubes interesting to you?” he asks, holding in his laughter. “My cock’s not even hard, so it’s not like they even add to anything right now.”

“They add to you,” Harry argues and smacks a kiss to Louis pec. “You had your time to cop a feel, don’t ruin this.” He proceeds to tug at a few pubes, like he’s testing something out, and Louis has to really concentrate on not letting it tickle him into squirming. He moves on to hold Louis’ mostly soft cock and run his fingertip down its side. It’s still a bit sensitive, but the touch is also soothing, like Harry is genuinely doing this to get acquainted with Louis’ body rather than to excite him.

“Your body is so beautiful, Louis. One day you should just let me be on my knees for you the whole day, using my mouth to kiss you everywhere,” Harry says, scratching at the top of Louis’ thigh.

Louis’ breath hitches at the suggestion, and he pinches at Harry’s arm where his own hand is resting around him. “Maybe I should,” he indulges Harry. “Keep you on your knees, not let you come and make you do whatever I please,” he says wistfully, like it’s a thought for another time.

“Now, however, I want to have a nap. Preferably with you,” he effectively declares Harry’s playtime over.

Harry huffs, but rolls over and drapes Louis’ hand over him, tangling their fingers together and pressing his palm to his chest, Louis’ resting atop his.

“Do you think we’ll ever have normal sex?” Louis asks Harry out of curiosity, feeling Harry’s body shake with laughter.

“Of course we will, Lou. While that was mind blowing, I’m sure there will be times when we don’t have enough time, or energy, or just want to feel close to each other without the pressure of playing like that. We’re meant to be, sexually and otherwise – we’ll figure it out,” Harry says confidently. Towards the end, he has to stifle a yawn and his voice is quieter.

“You think we’re meant to be?” Louis asks, kissing the top of Harry’s head and pulling his body closer to his own. The heat off of Harry radiates in waves and Louis feels like he’s found his favourite place to be in the world.

“I do,” Harry assures him, voice sounding far away.

“Good,” Louis sighs, eyes closed and seconds away from sleep. “I do, too.”

***

In the morning, they wake up together, Harry curled up under Louis’ arm. They follow their usual morning routine like they have for the past six years of living together, except this time it’s a little different. They shower together, conscious of the time restrain Harry is under, and they make out while the omelette Harry makes them is frying in the pan. Where Louis would usually burn his mouth drinking his tea too hot, now he has to reheat it because kneading Harry’s arse while marking him up on his neck is miles more important than hydration; when Harry leaves, it’s with a promise to see him in the evening and a thorough kissing session later. It’s a good start to his morning and feeling inspired, Louis writes his article about the wonders of BDSM in an hour, way ahead of his deadline for once.

Last night, after they woke up from their nap, Harry prepared a delicious homemade coconut curry, and they sat in the dining room, no distractions from the television, the radio, or their phones. It was cute, like an official first date even if it was at home, and they played footsie under the table while they talked. In the end, it wasn’t that much different from their previous dinners, but the meaning of this one wasn’t lost on either of them.

They discussed the logistics of their daily life, like how Louis would slowly move into Harry’s bedroom, converting his old room into a guest room with a table to double as their home office. They called their respective families, which might seem early at this stage, but after stalling for so long, it only felt right to inform the most important people in their lives of this recent development. He also sent a message to Nick, whom he felt obliged to tell as his best friend and received back an all-caps message of “ _get in !!! i knew you couldn’t fuck without getting into your feelings. you can thank me by naming your first-born nick xox_ ”, followed by a rabbit emoji and an aubergine emoji. Honestly.

Louis told Harry about the actual infatuation he got with BDSM that night and how he couldn’t stop thinking about the connection between the dom and the sub. Harry reassured him that he had done a wonderful job earlier, and that it was definitely something he wanted to explore further in the future.

Harry opened up to Louis about how sometimes Underclared would do what they called “special collections” and how he wished he could take samples home and give them a test ride with Louis. Those were always the nights he would feel extra piney and would talk his way into Louis’ bed just to pretend for even a little while that they were together. Louis laughs when he confesses those had been the worst nights for him because he had always second guessed each move he made, and it had seemed too good to be true. Harry promised him he would never have to do that again.

It was a good evening, and thinking back on it in the morning, Louis can’t wait to do it again and again at different stages of their life together. He fell asleep telling Harry he loved him and had the privilege of hearing it back.

***

As it is, Niall finds out first. They’re over at his and Barbara’s, watching a footie game while Harry and Barbara talk about something or other on the other couch, wine glasses in hand and a plate of assorted cheese in front of them. It might say something that Louis and Niall have takeaway containers of chips and gravy in their laps instead, but Louis wouldn’t like to read into it too much lest Harry try to make him eat gorgonzola. Again.

Manchester United is winning 3-1 by the time halftime rolls around, which is why Louis is in great spirits and also why Niall manages to entrap him with his vague language.

“You know the pair of underwear that we got from Harry a few weeks back?” Niall asks, licking at his fingertip when he accidentally dips one into the gravy.

“Panties,” Louis mutters, but Niall waves him of like the literary details of clothing he is apparently heavily invested in don’t interest him.

“Yes, those. Harry said that he had something new he wanted us to try out and get his feedback on, the piece he stayed late in the office for when you and Liam went for drinks? Well, I was meant to swing by to get it yesterday, but when I asked him about it before, he got all weird and dismissive,” Niall tells Louis.

“Maybe he had a work emergency, or it didn’t go into production,” Louis suggests, curious to see where this is going. Niall is never usually so upfront and demanding when it comes to lingerie – God knows they must have accumulated heaps of it over the last few years when Harry would demand they test it out, so it’s not like they _need_ more.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Niall shrugs. “But then Clare was talking to Barbara about an upcoming fashion show she wanted her for, and said it featured a really cool new pair of underwear” – _panties_ , Louis corrects him again – “that Harry came up with, and she thinks is absolutely spectacular. It’s strange that Harry wouldn’t give it to us to test, right?”

“I guess,” Louis raises his eyebrows, still not sure what Niall is getting at, or why this whole conversation is going in circles around the main subject. “Maybe he wants a new test group?”

“He doesn’t want a new test group, Louis,” Niall spells it out like he’s talking to a five-year-old. Louis gets the feeling he’s really missing something here. Niall looks at him like he’s completely daft. “I think he has someone.”

“Someone to like, give him feedback on the spot?” Louis asks, really confused now.

“No, Louis! I think he’s shagging someone and they’re wearing underwear for him. He’s killing two birds with one stone. Getting sexually and professionally satisfied,” Niall exclaims. “Oh god, that makes it sound like he’s using a prostitute,” he starts laughing.

“No. First of all, Niall, he’s not met someone,” which is technically true because Louis and Harry met _ages_ ago. “And second of all, Harry’s partner wouldn’t be wearing panties for him, he would do it himself. He was practically born to model lingerie in a bedroom.”

Niall looks like he’s just won the lottery when he points a finger at Louis and jumps up, looking like a kid in a candy shop. “I knew it! You finally got your shit together! You absolute tosser, took you long enough.” He throws himself into Louis’ space, hugging him and getting greasy fingertips all over his shirt. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this to happen forever, and now my sons have finally found love!” he says with all the vigour of a parent, then makes a beeline for Harry, hugging him as well and nearly spilling the wine in the process. 

Barbara congratulates them as well, although with more respect for personal space, and Louis shares an innocent shrug with Harry over Niall’s shoulder. They hadn’t exactly agreed to keep it a secret, but they didn’t make explicit plans to tell anybody. _It’ll happen when it’ll happen,_ Harry had said, but apparently it’s happened a mere 24 hours later.

“You got that just ‘cause I told you I know Harry would wear the panties in the relationship, huh?” Louis questions Niall once he’s calmed down a bit, now sitting back in his own place, leg swinging like there’s physically too much excitement in one body for him to keep still.

“Well, that, and you were also holding hands when I looked through the peephole before opening the door,” he laughs, and the others can’t help but join in.

When they get home, Louis barely lets the door shut and Harry’s bag thud to the floor before he presses Harry against the nearest wall with the intent of snogging all the life out of him. He had to look at Harry for four hours at Barbara and Niall’s since he picked him up from work, unable to touch him like he wanted to, plus an additional half hour’s ride home. Now that they finally have their privacy, Louis isn’t about to hold back. He slips a thigh between Harry’s and lets him grind down for a few seconds until he starts feeling the swell of Harry’s cock against him.

He runs a hand into his hair, tugging at it suddenly, Harry gasping into Louis’ mouth and letting his lips fall open further apart. Louis starts shoving at the leather jacket Harry’s wearing until he gets the message and drops it onto the floor, Louis’ own following soon behind. Louis slows down their kissing and grabs Harry’s hand, leading him to Harry’s (or what still feels like Harry’s for now) bedroom.

He pushes at Harry’s chest until he gets the hint and falls onto the bed, Louis following him and sitting down on his crotch. If he rolled his hips, Harry’s dick would catch friction against his bum, but like the tease he is, he doesn’t. He squeezes at Harry’s sides and waggles his eyebrows.

“So, what’s this special piece of lingerie you designed that you withheld from Niall?” Louis asks, toying with Harry’s fingers and seeing how Harry’s face goes from turned on to turned on with a hint of bashfulness. 

“Well, I was hoping to ease you into it,” he starts with a cheeky smile, dimples popping. “It’s easier if I show you? If you’re up for that?” he asks, like there’s a version of events where Louis would ever say no. He’s only been dreaming about this since Harry first got his job. “I actually brought it home with me today.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” Louis teases. 

Harry closes his eyes and guffaws in the most adorable way, his body shaking under Louis’.

“If you’re gonna tease me, you can forget all about it.” Harry sticks out his tongue and wiggles his body out from underneath Louis’ to climb to his feet.

“Don’t you dare,” Louis warns him with narrowed eyes, making himself comfortable by sitting up against the headboard. He watches Harry leave the room, supposedly towards where his bag is near the door, and digs his phone out of his back pocket, assuming Harry will be a while.

He’s answering a message from Nick when he hears Harry slip into the en-suite bathroom, which is just behind the corner from Louis’ view (another reason they decided to make Harry’s bedroom theirs). It should be a horrible cliché for Louis to wait on his partner to come back to the bedroom in a sexy get-up, but all he feels at the thought is the satisfaction at finally having each other like this. 

He answers another few texts and sets his alarm for the morning before putting his phone on charge and happily forgetting about it for the rest of the night. He switches off the overhead light and turns on the lamps nestled on the walls, runs his hand through his hair, giving his crotch a squeeze for good measure. Just the thought of seeing Harry in lingerie has been making his cock thicken up. 

When the bathroom door opens and Harry steps out, he clears his throat like he usually would when he’s feeling a bit coy. He walks to meet Louis’ eager gaze and when he sees the sight in front of him, his breath catches in his throat.

Harry paints a stunning picture, standing in a wine-red [gown](https://cdn-images.farfetch-contents.com/12/58/37/37/12583737_12043720_480.jpg). The colour is a beautiful contrast against his pale skin, elongating his long, soft legs and thighs where the gown meets them halfway and accentuating his dark loose curls and striking pink lips, the belt at the waist showing off the curve of his body. The gown has dark floral details at the hem and the long sleeves, the rest of the fabric transparent and showing the dark smatterings of Harry’s tattoos. Louis takes in each detail, starting at Harry’s chest where the gown connects, then making his way down to where he can see dark panties underneath.

“Baby,” he says, his voice hoarse from the pure arousal running through him. He swallows, tries again. “Come here, darling,” he beckons.

Harry obliges, settling down on top of Louis, knees on both sides of his thighs. Louis immediately places his hands on Harry’s cheeks, cradling his face while he presses a long kiss to his lips. He thinks he should feel more aroused than sappy and romantic, but he can’t help it. His heart is rabbiting at the fact that Harry trusted him enough to see him like this, allowed him this incredibly beautiful image. He looks cherubic and sensual at the same time and Louis feels like his heart isn’t big enough to fit all of the emotions he’s experiencing.

He pulls away just long enough to whisper to him, “You’re so gorgeous. All mine,” into Harry’s ear, littering his neck with wet kisses. One of his hands drops down to Harry’s arse, kneading at it through two thin layers, feeling the supple curve of it, soft and begging to be touched. Harry arches into it, chasing Louis’ contact and moans in reaction to Louis’ words.

“Wanted to show you,” he sighs, but he sounds overwhelmed like he can’t quite finish his sentence. “Wanted you to see me like this,” he gasps, soft and pliant, rolling his hips to push his arse further into Louis’ hand. 

“Thank you,” Louis says, keeping their lips pressed, tongues slick against each other. “You look stunning, thank you.” He brings his other hand down as well and together uses them to push them beneath Harry’s gown, feeling soft fabric underneath. The panties have thin straps on the sides and end low on Harry’s back, but there’s more of the cloth going up Harry’s body.

“What’s this, baby?” he asks, squeezing Harry’s arse before tugging at the fabric, indicating to Harry what he’s talking about.

Harry pushes slightly at Louis’ chest to put some space between them and undoes the tie of his gown. Louis laments the loss of it when Harry shrugs it off and throws it to the floor, but it’s soon replaced by a gut-deep lust. The black panties end just below the glistening head of Harry’s cock, and where it was previously hidden by the gown and the mood lighting, there is a black strip tied around his waist. When Louis lifts up his hands to Harry’s lower back, he feels how the strap connects to the bottom part of the panties, forming an X in the middle of his lower back.

“It’s the new garment,” Harry explains. He lifts up onto his knees to turn around in Louis’ lap, sitting back down in a reverse cowgirl position with his arse on display for Louis. “Untie the knot at the back of the strap,” he instructs, pointing to where there is indeed a knot in the middle of Harry’s back. Louis complies easily, curious to see where this is going, and once he does, Harry holds out his hands behind his back, waiting for Louis to catch on. A second later, he does.

“Fuck, you designed this? My perfect, genius boy,” he praises, straining the strap to loop around Harry’s wrists and tying them into a bow, binding Harry’s arms together. The [panties](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/99/7c/fe/997cfee4b8fe52e8414e5520b5cdfa9c--mr-grey-luxury-lingerie.jpg) hug his arse exquisitely, and paired with the fastening above, it makes for an unparalleled view.

“Was thinking of you when I came up with the idea,” Harry admits, and swings back around to face Louis. He nearly loses balance with no hands there to steady him, but Louis helps him with a hand on his hip. “How do you feel about spanking me in them?” Harry asks, proud and brazen.

“Anything for you, love,” Louis concurs, reaching up for a peck. “How would you like to do it?”

“Over your lap? If you sit on your knees, I can lean against them with my arse, head on the mattress,” he suggests.

It’s not easy to get into the position, Harry as wobbly as he is, but they manage it eventually. Harry’s bum rests against Louis’ thighs just like he said it would, and his cheek is pressed against the bed. Louis runs his hands up and down Harry’s lower back in a calming motion before they begin.

“Remember to tell me if you want to slow down, yeah? Don’t want to hurt you, darling,” Louis reminds him gently but sternly. After all, Harry’s comfort is his first priority. “I will check in with you every so often.” Harry nods against the bed and wiggles his arse, impatient to focus Louis’ attention elsewhere.

“Harry, promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you need to,” Louis repeats. He waits until Harry lets out an “I promise” before getting to work. 

He feels funny starting out of nowhere, like there’s no build up, and so he scoots back on the bed until Harry’s bum hits his heels instead. His body is strung up, and when Louis runs his hand down his side, it feels like a taut string, held together by tension alone.

With an idea in mind, Louis lifts up onto his knees instead, towering over Harry, and places his palms on Harry’s shoulders instead. He jerks a bit at that, like he wasn’t expecting Louis to touch him there at all, and writhes under Louis’ touch.

“Easy, baby, relax. Let me take care of you,” Louis admonishes him. “Why don’t you spread out on your front, let your back rest?”

Harry follows his instructions, doing his best to please Louis, until his tummy is flat against the covers, legs spread out. He seems more relaxed already.

“Good boy,” Louis praises, and starts up a slow massaging motion on Harry’s shoulder, feeling the muscles relax and the stress seep out of them. Harry sighs pleasantly and mewls, which would be funny if it also wasn’t mind numbingly hot. Louis continues the same way, alternating between spots on Harry’s back and working harder where he finds knots under the smooth skin.

“That feel good?” Louis asks when he presses down particularly hard, and Harry nods against the bed immediately, grinding his hips down.

“Harry,” he warns, barely done speaking before he lands a strike on Harry’s left bum cheek, sending his body into shock and making Harry moan with the unexpected impact. “I told you to relax.” He strikes at Harry’s skin again in the same place, not adding much pressure, and watches Harry squirm.

“More, please, Lou. Love your hands,” he begs, voice high and raspy from the little impact he’s had.

“More of what?” Louis laughs teasingly. “This?” he asks, hitting Harry’s other cheek a bit harder, his skin giving in under the pressure. He does it again when Harry cries out, this time jiggling his bum cheek and swearing under his breath when he does.

He moves down to sit on Harry’s thighs, giving up all pretence of trying to distract Harry, and slaps at his cheeks repeatedly at different intervals and speeds. The skin peeking out from the panties is a deep pink shade, a stark contrast to the pale white of his thighs. Louis switches areas, hitting at the crease of Harry’s thigh and bum, and where his noises and whines have been a constant slew up until now, at this he screams out, sobbing out a desperate “Louis”.

He does it again just to hear Harry’s voice so shot and desperate, crying out his name. The next time, it comes out a bit broken, more of a cry than anything else.

Louis lifts up his gaze in a heartbeat, looking at Harry’s tear-stricken face. His cheek is pressed against the sheets and his gaze is on Louis, eyes hazy but open. His face is blotchy and he looks overwhelmed, and Louis can’t believe he got so caught up in staring at his arse he forgot to check in. He abandons his post, reaching out for Harry’s face, ready to apologise, when Harry starts shaking his head.

“No, no, please. Want more, please, Louis. Feels so good,” he babbles when he sees Louis starting to move from his place. He pushes up his arse as much as he can, eyes wet and voice wrecked.

“Harry, baby, are you sure you can take it?” Louis asks, at a loss of what to do when Harry looks like he hurts but is asking for more.

“Yes, yeah, hurts so good, please,” he answers, like he can read Louis’ thoughts. “I promise. Want you to keep going.”

Louis waits until his crying calms down to a less frantic sniffling before he gives him another slap, determined to keep looking at Harry’s face. Harry’s eyes are screwed shut now and his face is shiny with tears, but when Louis’ palm makes contact with his skin, it explodes in what can only be described as pleasure. Reassured, Louis hits him again, and God, he must be around twenty slaps in by now, and his boy is taking it so well. Either way, he doesn’t want to overdo it for their first time.

“Harry, darling, can I try something?” he asks, and Harry nods lightning fast, not even questioning his trust in Louis.

This is what Louis had read about in that blog – the connection between the dom and the sub, how the dom was able to take care of his partner and give her everything she wanted. How he could read her body and anticipate her needs, how their minds had been separate, but simultaneously one. He remembers taking in the words about the undeniable confidence the sub had in the dom and how the scenes were like an extension of the connection between them. He knows that realistically, this is only the tip of the iceberg, but he feels the foundation and when Harry opens his eyes to find Louis’, he feels it stronger than anything.

Louis finds Harry’s hand for a moment, still tied up behind his back, and squeezes it, trying to convey the hurricane of feelings inside him before continuing what he was doing.

He leans down to where Harry’s bum is red and overheated and hitches up the panties to one side, revealing more of his glorious arse. He keeps pushing at it until he reveals Harry’s crack and can separate his cheeks, looking at his pink hole, mouth watering.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he reminds Harry, before he dives in and lets his tongue lap at Harry’s hole.

It’s a heady taste, one he can imagine losing himself in completely, but even more addictive is the reaction Louis gets from Harry. The noises he’s making grow in volume and he squirms against the bed, hips rolling down in search of friction. The movements are aborted, like he wants to be both rutting against the bed and pushing his arse onto Louis’ face.

Louis swirls his tongue around the rim, the taste more concentrated there, and as he does, he brings one hand up to land on Harry’s cheek. Harry’s whole body jolts and he sobs out “ _Lou_ ” so prettily it makes Louis slap him again. Louis squeezes his arse where his palm lies, the skin burning hot through the cotton of the panties, and licks at Harry’s hole in broad strokes.

Harry keeps gyrating his hips restlessly and when Louis pulls off for a second to catch his breath and admire his work, Harry’s hole pink and slick with spit, Harry pushes his bum out towards Louis. He doesn’t really have purchase with his hands tied up behind his back, but it’s a valiant effort.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” Louis asks just to be a tease, taking in Harry in front of him.

“Yeah, please, want more,” Harry whines, turning to look at Louis with wanton eyes. His hair is all mussed up and his eyes are glassy, but he manages to give Louis a weak smile when their eyes connect. Louis returns it.

Louis is about to get back to work, intent on fucking Harry with his tongue sooner rather than later, when he realises he is still fully clothed. It hadn’t been his priority until now, the aching hard-on in his boxers, but it’s become rather uncomfortable while his focus was elsewhere. But Harry’s arse in front of him looks irresistible, so instead he buries his face back in it and gives Harry’s arse another swat before withdrawing his hand and sliding it to where he’s incredibly hard.

He palms at his erection and works to pop open the button and slide down the zipper, giving space for his hand to sneak in and wrap around his cock. It’s not easy, trying to eat Harry out and avoiding getting his dick caught at the same time, but he manages.

Once his fingers are snugly wrapped around his cock, he thrusts his tongue inside Harry with extra enthusiasm, willing Harry’s pretty moans into existence. 

Harry’s hole opens up beautifully in response to the intrusion and Louis swirls his tongue in his hole. His other hand is still working his dick in his pants and he does his best to keep up the rhythm of both synchronised.

His cock is rock hard and leaking already, all just from spanking and eating Harry out. It should be embarrassing, really, how he can’t hold off his orgasm while his tongue is fucking Harry open, so he doesn’t even try. He strokes faster, swiping over the tip on every upward stroke, and muffles his groan in Harry’s arse when he comes, feeling it coat his hand. He feels a bit boneless afterwards, satisfied and happy, like now that the edge is off he could keep his tongue between Harry’s arse cheeks forever.

Harry must realise what’s going on because he moans from where he’s lying, grinding down onto the bed with renewed effort.

“Lou, use it in me,” he groans, and for a second Louis doesn’t know what he means, until it clicks. He works his hand out of his pants, sticky and wet, and brings it up to Harry’s hole. He removes his tongue and replaces it with the pad of his index finger, pushing his come into Harry, and watching as it paints his hole. It’s filthy and messy and everything Louis didn’t know he needed. He doesn’t know if Harry can feel the come inside him rather than the finger itself, but he keens nevertheless. Louis fucks him on his one finger, watching the entrancing slide of in and out.

“Baby, come whenever you want,” he encourages before he dives in, fitting his tongue in next to his finger and tasting the bitterness of his own come. Harry starts rocking his bum again, his moans coming out in short intervals. It’s no longer than a minute before he stills and releases a string of curses.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming, Lou,” he says and pushes his hole onto Louis’ tongue one last time before clenching and sagging into the bed.

Louis pushes up from between Harry’s legs and takes the opportunity to finally rid himself of his clothes while Harry is breathing raggedly to come down. He slides off his shirt quickly and struggles out of his jeans and boxers, then moves to undo the bow tying Harry’s wrists together. Once he does, he rubs at Harry’s arm and gently takes the panties off completely, pulling them underneath Harry’s body and off. They’re soaked in spunk and need a good wash if they ever want to use them again, but that’s a problem for another day.

He scoots a pliant Harry into his arms and coos at him, moving the hair out of his face.

“Did so good, my darling,” he assures, thumbing below Harry’s eye where there’s wetness left from his tears. Harry nods and buries his face in Louis’ neck, like he’s not ready to face the world quite yet, and takes sharp inhales. His hands slowly come to rest on Louis’ shoulder’s.

They stay like that for close to ten minutes, just holding each other, Louis murmuring his praise until Harry lifts his head and smiles at Louis shyly. Trust the one man who was begging Louis to fuck him with his come not even a half hour ago to be shy after the fact.

“You liked the panties, then?” Harry asks, and when Louis nods eagerly, his smile widens.

“You have no idea how much,” Louis says and kisses the tip of Harry’s nose before connecting their lips. “Better than anything I expected.”

“Good,” Harry beams at him. “I happen to work for a lingerie company, you know, so there’s more where that came from,” he says through a toothy grin. Louis laughs at him and isn’t surprised at all when Harry moves to twist his nipple.

Later, after Louis has rubbed a good amount of lotion into Harry’s arse and made him drink plenty of water, they watch an episode of _Death in Paradise_ as per Harry’s request. They barely even find out who the victim is before Harry nods off, softly snoring where his head is positioned on top of Louis’ arm, their fingers intertwined on Harry’s chest.

Louis switches off the TV and fits himself against Harry’s side, other hand coming to rest on his tummy. He closes his eyes and smiles. It’s a good place to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
